


those games we play in the shadows

by soulioli



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Mutual Attraction, a year into the war, discussion of betrayal, discussion of war related violence, heavily hinted ship but nothing canon, honestly i wanted to write something tense and doroclaude brain go brr, in the middle of the timeskip, kind of flirting, please read for atmosphere, questioning of alliegance, route ambiguous, she kinda pins him against a wall at one point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27892105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulioli/pseuds/soulioli
Summary: While trying to comprehend the reality of war and where her alliegances really lie, Dorothea takes a break from fighting. When she gets followed to her room in the inn one night, she finds herself pointing a dagger at a friendly(?) face who proposes something impossible.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Claude von Riegan, Dorothea Arnault/Claude von Riegan, relationship HINTED
Kudos: 5





	those games we play in the shadows

In Imperial year 1181, Dorothea Arnault takes a break from fighting in the war effort. 

Realistically, she knows she should be fighting with her friends on the frontlines. She has been complimented time and time again about being one of their best mages, up in the league of Linhardt and Hubert. She knows that if she descended onto the battlefield, she could kill hundreds of men within a single sitting. 

If she focuses too much, she can still feel it as well. She can feel the fire magic working its way through her veins, can hear the screams of the fallen, can feel the overwhelming grief and guilt at having taken another person’s life - 

She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that she wouldn't grace the battlefield for at least another week. Right now, she finds herself in the village of Adare, where she had settled to “hone her magic.” 

The excuse was just that, an excuse. A lie. Her magic truly didn’t need to be honed much further (in fact, she’s sure that if she honed it much further, she would become magic incarnate), and yet she's here. Why?

Well, war isn’t as straightforward as she previously thought it to be. Sure, she'd sung the same songs about war throughout her entire career, but she hadn’t actually comprehended their meaning - hadn’t thought about the morality of the characters that she was portraying. In her defense, there hadn’t been much to think about - every story had a hero and a villain. Right was right; wrong was wrong. Up was up; down was down. 

Now, however, she isn’t so sure. 

Of course, she was previously determined to stand by her friend. The person she was fighting for wasn't Edelgard, wasn't Empress Edelgard, wasn't a monarch, it was _Edie_. Edie, who would give her the world if she were to ask for it. Edie, who preferred cherry scones with her tea. Edie, who didn't laugh often, but could light a room when she did. Much like the stories she had grown so accustomed to, Edelgard had made sense. In the beginning, her motive made sense, too. The Crest system had not only failed her, but it had failed everyone. Dorothea, Linhardt, Bernadetta, and more of her former friends, like Ingrid and Sylvain. It only made sense to wage war on the Church, who encouraged and upheld the system as if it were law. It made sense. 

It made sense until she had watched a man bleed out on the battlefield; until she had to swing her sword down on a man who was begging to go back to his wife and child. It made sense until she considered that they were killing people as if they were acting on behalf of the Church; until she wondered how many siblings, mothers, and fathers she had killed. It made sense until she considered how many children she had made orphans. It made _so much sense_ until she considered that she didn’t know why Edelgard was truly fighting this war. 

Back at the academy, she never doubted it for a second. But after killing over a hundred men and women, her mind started to wander. Would the war ever end? Would they win? 

After all of this is over, will they even like the new world that they create? 

Dorothea sighs, reminding herself once again that she isn’t on the battlefield as she comes back to earth. Instead, she’s standing in front of a homey inn in the village. One of the Empire’s best. It feels wrong to stay in a place as peaceful as this when she should be doing something as brutal as war, but she supposes that her situation leaves her a bit of grey space.

Well, at least she’s alone to think. 

As if to spite the songstress, a pair of soft footsteps began to approach from her left, just in time for some village children to burst from their houses to catch fireflies. The songstress’s breath catches as she tries to focus on the footsteps amongst the screaming. They’re quiet - almost too quiet as if the person approaching has experience stepping lightly. Perhaps she’s simply paranoid, but she feels an incessant tug in her gut that tells her to move. 

Following its direction, takes a few quick steps of her own, nearing the door and listening for more of them. When they don’t stop, she quickly pushes it open and rushes to the hallway. She certainly isn’t planning on killing anyone, but if she were going to knock someone out, then it isn’t something that she’s prepared to explain to the innkeeper. The songstress continues to listen, slowing her breathing to keep herself calm. 

The footsteps don’t stop. 

Letting out a quiet curse, she quietly opens the door to her room and leaves it open, lifting her skirts as the footsteps grow closer. Perhaps any other woman would have hidden, or maybe tried to seduce them. Perhaps if she were the same person that she had been a year ago, she would consider it. Now, though, she unsheathes a dagger and waits in the shadows of her room, trying to focus on the sound of the footsteps approaching as they wander closer. 

Three feet. 

Two feet. 

In the doorway. Her hand tightens around the hilt of the dagger, listening as they approach her and abruptly stop. They take one step, and then another, and then another, and then - 

She twirls the dagger around in her hand, pressing them against the wall and holding the weapon to their throat. It’s not a position she can sustain for long, and she recognizes that. However, she makes no move to let them go as she hears a soft intake of breath and their hood falls. 

Dorothea glances up, eyes narrowing, and then pauses at the face above her. 

"Claude." 

"Dorothea," he says, voice awe-struck, "Didn't know you could spin a knife like that." 

Dorothea scoffs, looks away, sheathes her dagger. She takes her time rearranging her skirts around the hidden sheath as if some part of her isn't leaping with joy. Trying to still her hands, she pretends that she's not still close enough for their positions to reverse, pretends that she can't smell whatever intoxicating scent follows him around. 

Things are better that way.

"I learned a few things." 

"I can tell," he says, straightening out his hood. In the year that they've grown apart, he's chopped off that braid of his (which she mourns a little more than is necessary), and now his hair is slicked back. Hers is longer, now, and her hat is missing. She pretends that she doesn't notice, instead opting to cross to her bedside to admire the flowers on her nightstand. They are lovely, a gift to her from the innkeeper as a token of her appreciation for the Emperor’s efforts. 

Dorothea swallows and pretends to like the flowers more than the man standing in her room. "What are you doing here?" 

"Thought I'd drop by and say hi." 

"Bullshit," she corrects softly, now rearranging the flowers. 

"Pardon?" 

"I said that's bullshit," she says, turning around to face him. He looks almost surprised, but masks that with a teasing smile that fails to reach her. It’s reminiscent of her academy days in a way that makes her ache to go back, but that doesn’t stop her stare. 

"Come on, now. Do I _really_ need a reason for every visit?" 

_Yes, you need a reason._ She thinks, frowning. _You need a reason because you’ve been on my damn mind since this war started, and we’re not the same people but you wore a disguise just to come seek me out._

Dorothea resists the urge to sigh. That’s what she _wants_ to say, but she knows that she can’t. She can’t because it will end badly and even though they had been friends, Claude von Riegan has never had pure intentions. She didn’t know if she could handle being heartbroken right now. "It's been a year, Claude." She responds finally. It's not accusatory, not angry, not tired. It's just infuriatingly neutral. There's nothing there to get a rise out of him, and yet there should be. 

"It has," he agrees. The corner of his mouth tightens and then lifts as if it's trying to confuse her. "Would it be so unbelievable of me to say that I came to see you?" 

"Considering that we're quite a while away from Derdriu, yes. Now, why are you here?" 

"I think it's only fair that I return the question," he said, leaning against the wall. "After all, your Emperor is the one that's waging war on the continent." 

"My condolences," she says automatically. If she were still that girl from a year ago, she's sure that she would have fallen over at how she was acting now. Now, she’s reserved, cold, unwilling to talk to someone who had once been her best friend. 

_Or more._ A long-dormant part of her mind murmurs. She tries to lull it back into dormancy.

"What's even more interesting," he comments, eyes still weighing on her, "is that you're not fighting with her. Why is that?" 

She takes in air, turning away from him. He can't see the look on her face right now; not after they had become friends at the academy. Not after he had learned what her little quirks were in just enough time for Edelgard to start a war. Not after she'd-

Dorothea cuts that last part off with a verbal remark, unwilling to turn down that path. "I don't think that's any of your business, Claude." 

"I think it's definitely my business. Especially if I'm worried about you." 

He sounds so sincere that she wants to turn around, but she only crosses the room and sits on her bed. The movement is measured and cold. She let out a sigh that's as carefully measured as the movements before and waves a hand. "Fine. I fought up until two weeks ago. I killed entire battalions with my magic. I didn't feel strong enough, so I'm taking a leave of absence to improve my skills." 

"Hm." He hums, considering it. "Interesting." 

Finally, she allows herself to turn around and look at him. "Now, answer my question. Why are you here?" 

For a moment, considers the question, considers her. For a moment, she considers him. He had always been evasive in their academy days, but he looks craftier, now, as if he knows something that she doesn’t. As if he has a plan. 

"I've come with a proposal." 

“For me? I hope that it isn’t marriage, Claude.” 

He huffs. “Of course not. I wouldn’t distract you in the middle of a war like that. Would you hear me out?” 

She signals him to continue and pretends to look bored. That's always her strategy - look bored enough that no one dares to approach. The fewer bonds she has, the better soldier she will be if she wants to be a soldier at all. Dorothea knows that he can see through it anyway, but he neglects to comment on it. “Go on.” 

"I need a spy on the inside.” 

Ice crawls down her spine as she turns to look at him. His eyes are steady, green piercing even in the orange sunset light flooding the room. She watches, breath held, as the sunlight shifts over his face. He’s just asked something impossible of her, and yet he looks confident. 

_He can’t possibly be suggesting what I think he’s suggesting, can he?_

“What do you mean by that? Inside of where?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not asking you to assassinate her or anything, but Edelgard can't win this war."

And just like that, all of her frustration bubbles to the surface, rising to her as if it’s a fire spell. All of the questions flood back to her, ranging from _Why haven’t I seen you?_ to _Why haven’t you joined our side?_ to _What am I fighting for?”_

"Why? So nobles can continue to support a broken system? So that the church may stay?" She snaps, eyes narrowing. 

His lips press together tightly as he responds, "You know that I don't believe in the Church's teachings. Teach didn't, either." 

Dorothea ignores the way that her throat tightens upon hearing the past tense being used for her former professor. "Then what are you saying?" 

Claude is silent for a moment as if considering her closely. Then, to her surprise, he steps closer. When she doesn't move, he takes another step, and then another. He moves until they're close enough that she feels dizzy, staring down at her with eyes the color of the forests around Garreg Mach. Then, as if he knows something that he doesn’t, he looks around and lowers his voice. "I want things to change. We've got the same goal, but Edelgard won't listen to anything that isn't war because she's convinced that that's her path." 

"If you have the same goal, then why don't you want her to win?" 

Claude laughs quietly, shoulders shaking in a way that Dorothea knows isn't genuine. She had seen him laugh genuinely before, heard the quiet little snorts and gasps for air, watched them bounce, shut her eyes with him as they laughed and laughed for who knew how long - 

She takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sage and leather before realizing, belatedly, that he was close enough to touch. 

"Because she'll kill anyone in her way. I won't. Or at least I'll try not to. And, even if I don't like the Church, they can still co-exist with everyone else." 

"Why?" She challenges. 

"Why not?" He responds. "How is Edelgard any better than the church? How are you so sure that she wouldn't kill her friends if they stood in her way?" 

Dorothea's hands tighten into fists. "Edie wouldn't. I'd sooner die than have her killed by your hand." 

"Are you sure about that?" He says. The songstress meets his eyes, taking in the victorious look on his face. Something inside her wilts, hisses that he knows why she's really here, but she places a finger to its lips and attempts to stay calm. That same part of her gestures for her not to ask, not to walk into the obvious trap ahead of her. She looks back at the path that she had traveled and finds it laden with poison. 

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” 

“Because you don’t know what you’re fighting for. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You aren’t studying magic, you’re unsure of why you’re fighting in the first place.” 

The songstress exhales, unable to keep playing a character when she's confronted with the truth. Her eyes flutter shut as the claim hangs in the air, weighty on her shoulders. Thinking it is one thing; hearing it is another. “Even if that’s true, I don’t understand-” 

“Dorothea, _please,_ ” he grabs her shoulders, and her eyes pop open, flying to his. In the year that they had been apart, she had forgotten how electrifying the little touches between them could be. “If you don’t know what you’re fighting for, then let me give you something to fight for.” 

He makes a compelling argument, speaking to the other part of her that swells and then stays like that, keeping her light and full of air. Even still, she continues to question him, continues to do what she should have done in the first place. “What would I be fighting for if I were to join you?” 

“A Fodlan with peace. A Fodlan with open borders. Cultural exchange. Freedom to come and go as you please, or maybe even a new government. Maybe a future when we don’t go years without seeing each other.” He says excitedly, fingers curling around her shoulder blades. She resists the urge to gasp or exhale quietly, reminded of that boy she had met at the academy. “Maybe something new. Not quite a system without nobles, but a system that doesn’t care what your bloodline is, or if you come from Brigid, or Duscur, or wherever else. A future for Fodlan that has implications for the rest of the world, too.” 

For a moment, Dorothea agrees. His version of Fodlan sounds just as nice as Edelgard’s. To an orphan, it even sounds comforting. He looks passionate, too, but not manic. She’s sure that, if he were in Edelgard’s shoes, he would agree with her, but he isn’t. He’s not hellbent on revenge, he’s not so intent on striking down resistances to the cause even within his own borders, he’s just _excited._ Excited as if he had a plan before the war, and now his plan can become a reality. 

That’s precisely what Dorothea gets caught up in, too, hooking onto the words as if she’s a fish in the sea. She closes her mouth around the softened edges of the idea, caught on the boy she knew more than a year ago. The thought, much like his presence, is intoxicating. But before she can verbalize her agreement, she stops. His vision sounds lovely, but betraying Edelgard? Petra? Hubert? Caspar? Linhardt? Ferdinand? Bernie? It doesn’t feel right. None of that feels right. Especially not the thought of Edelgard dying, or Hubert, or Petra - 

What would her sacrifice have meant, then? What would the screams echoing in her ears mean? The burning of her hands as she cast spell after spell to protect her friends? The nightmares she still suffered? The names of Kingdom soldiers that she had memorized? 

“I don’t know if I can accept your offer.” She says instead. Her voice is quiet, hands hesitant as they come up to rest over his. He slides them off of her, frowning. 

“Will you at least think about it?” 

She closes her eyes, weighing responses against one another. She can’t tell him that she won’t, because she will - oh, how she will - but she can’t tell him that she will, because that tells him exactly what she’s unsure of. Instead, she settles for “I’ll try,” and tries not to miss the warmth of his hands. 

“Thank you,” he says, stepping back. She swallows, trying to push down the cluster of emotions that have already risen to the surface. 

“A bit premature for thanks, isn’t it?” The songstress says.

“Nope. Just early enough. I’m going to get out of your hair so that you have time to think about it.” 

“Why thank you,” she blurts, her old sarcasm coming to the surface. She looks up, startled at herself, only to find a matching expression on Claude’s face that softens to a grin, as if he were sure he was dealing with Dorothea and not a stranger. She doesn’t have much longer to think about it, though, because he turns on his heel and walks to the door with a parting statement already falling from his lips. 

"Even if you don't accept my offer, keep it between us, yeah? As friends." 

"Sure," she responds. "As friends." 

“Cool. I guess I’ll see you in a few days, then.” He says, opening the door. 

“You’re coming back?” Dorothea asks, inwardly cursing at how hopeful she sounds. 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

“No, that’s not what I -” she cuts herself off with a sigh. “Nevermind. Shut the door behind you when you leave, will you?” 

“Sure thing,” he says. The brunette doesn’t speak again, doesn’t move until the door shuts behind him with a thump of wood on wood. She finds herself standing in front of it seconds later, locking it frantically and then stopping once she realizes that he’s gone. The songstress rested her head against the cool wood of the door with a sigh. 

Once again, she finds herself alone in the shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> i KNOW it's three AM and that i'm due to update literally everything else but i'm depressed and haven't written in a week and doroclaude brain go brr okay?  
> in all seriousness, i really needed something tense for my portfolio and i feel this piece is a good study on dorothea's morals and ethics in line with her house leaders', as well as how the war changes her. as for claude...i don't know, i just thought he would do something like this. he's very well intentioned but sometimes he needs a gentle bonk on the head because he just isn't an emotional thinker. but dorothea is an emotional thinker, hence her problems with the war  
> i just think they're neat  
> anyway! drop some feedback, if you're interested! it really helps to hear people yell abt my fics with me. :) thanks for reading!


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